Peppermint Tea
by Liebling
Summary: This story was originally a challenge from Davesmom to create a G/Greg Goyle romance. It is now a joint writing venture and we're looking for a chapter 3.
1. Peppermint Tea and Argyle Socks

Authors Note: I needed an idea. A good idea, a new idea. Davesmom (an amazing author, go check out her fics she's just awesome beyond comprehension) gave me a challenge: to write a "believable"  
  
Dun dun dun:  
  
Ginny Weasley/Gregory Goyle fic.  
  
Oh and for the record (again): Forgive all grammar and spelling errors. I'm just exasperated with this little ficlet right now. Luv ya!  
  
Ladies and gentlemen: I believe I am attempting the impossible.  
  
Bear with me.  
  
~*~  
  
It had been a tough day for Ginny Josie Weasley resident sixth year of Gryffindor house. For starters she'd most likely failed her Potions test that she didn't even attempt to study for. And then she'd had a run-in with Malfoy around noon where he successfully struck a chord, again. After lunch Flitwick had yelled at her about 'running in the halls' and he had also piled them with loads of homework. On top of all of this, after classes Ron had told her to "go find her own friends." And she was sorry to say that she didn't have many of her own friends.  
  
Unless you counted Colin. They'd met upon the Hogwarts Express and ate licorice wands and talked of magic the whole ride. He was her sole friend in all of Hogwarts, unless you counted Hermione and Harry (which were more 'borrowed' friends who had to pretend to like her, if you asked her.) Colin was, to many girls' standards, perfect. He was always ready with a shoulder to cry on and a hearty laugh, his sandy blond hair was always in his crystal blue eyes and he was really sweet.  
  
But sometimes it felt as though she knew him too well, as though she wasn't ready to face her history and childhood. And as understanding as Colin was he often pitied her, and that wasn't what she needed. She could've talked to the girls' who occupied her dorm but they were far too '-prissy-' and it was a vile experience on the whole.  
  
Back in the present moment she wasn't quite sure what to do. Maybe she was looking for someone, anyone, to converse with and cry to and tell her woes to. Or maybe she was just trying to get away. It'd been such an awful day and she wished more than anything to have someone she could really talk to. She turned corridors and ran into tables as glass lamps fell to the wooden floor, and she didn't look back.  
  
Making a left she ran into a figure with broad shoulders. His thick brown hair fell in his hazel eyes as he brushed it away. His eyes glanced down to the short redhead. He was about to tell her to "bugger off" or to go crying to Potter, but she looked so scared and crestfallen that he changed his mind quickly. Which, for Gregory Henry Goyle was not entirely unusual.  
  
"Weasley," he said stiffly as she backed away from him.  
  
"Goyle," she mimicked, although without force because the tears were running and her resistance was down.  
  
"You shouldn't be around here," he stated, and his voice lacked emotion of any sort, he said it as though it were a dry fact.  
  
"Shouldn't I? Why not? I can cry where I want to," she knew she was being immature but didn't care. Sitting down near the concrete walls she noticed that he sat down next to her, but a great deal apart.  
  
He signaled over to a room with a willow door that bore a sign saying, "Do not enter" in cursive, ebony ink and then she shivered slightly.  
  
"Oh," she said, "and I suppose you don't know what's in there?"  
  
"No," he said, "actually I do. We don't just sit around the common room and do nothing, you know. We have our, erm-" he paused, as though at a loss for words "-adventures, you know."  
  
"Maybe so," she said, because she really wasn't in the fighting mood. "Where's all of your friends?" She asked, trying to be conversational even though she knew that Crabbe and Draco were somewhere in the Great Hall.  
  
"I don't know," Gregory said firmly, "they're probably nicking food from the kitchens or telling off first years or something."  
  
"They don't only tell off first years," she told him as the crying came to a slow halt  
  
"No," he agreed, "not just first years. Why are you crying?" He asked, as though it were just a simple question like, 'where's the cloak?' or 'how are you?' or 'do you have to go to the lavatory?' She knew better than to expect sympathy from one of Draco Malfoy's cronies. Knew better; but that didn't mean she wouldn't try.  
  
"It's just a lot of junk, Greg, you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"  
  
"Not terribly," was the flat response, "can't you talk to Creevy?"  
  
"Not with this," she said shaking her head, "and maybe not ever again."  
  
"Oh," he said, "aren't you two 'best friends' or whatever it is you Gryffindors do?"  
  
"He's my best friend," she agreed, "and it's what I do. But Colin's just Colin and I feel like I'm always burdening him with this stuff."  
  
"Colin seems like a good friend," he observed.  
  
"He is," the redhead agreed as her shoulders touched his.  
  
"Argyle socks," he laughed as he saw her knee socks.  
  
"Colin always said he thought they were 'cute as a button'-" she said and she almost started crying again, because she knew she should have been talking to him.  
  
"Did he?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well Colin has odd taste in socks," he said.  
  
"What kind of socks are you wearing?" She felt compelled to ask him. He lifted up his black slacks and showed her jade green socks with silver animated serpents.  
  
"They're cool if you like that kind of thing-"  
  
"What kind of thing?"  
  
"The Slytherin kind of thing."  
  
There was an awkward silence as she coughed into the crook of her elbow and looked at the many smiling portraits on the wall.  
  
"I need to go. I'll get some peppermint tea; it'll make me feel better. And Colin will worry, I just had a bad day, that's all."  
  
"No," he said firmly, "I'll go get some peppermint tea with you."  
  
"Boys don't like peppermint tea," she said, "well, my brother's don't."  
  
"I don't much like it either," he admitted, "but if you're drinking it, I'll drink it. Unless you can settle for Ogden's." He took a bottle with red liquid out of his cloak pocket and without guilt showed it to her.  
  
"I can't settle for Ogden's. I need some peppermint tea and peanut butter cookies, Mummy always made them for me when I was sad."  
  
"I always went into the liquor cabinet and got myself some Fire Whiskey when I was sad," he said, almost hollowly.  
  
She chuckled grimly. "Really. Now Greg, you don't mind if I call you that right?"  
  
"I already said I don't."  
  
"Well, Greg, I need to go."  
  
"You don't have to go," he said.  
  
"I need to," she said, "I can't find what I need here."  
  
"And what do you need?" He asked quite taken by the young girl (although something he'd probably never admit.)  
  
"Colin," she sniffed, "Colin, peppermint tea, and peanut butter cookies. And maybe for Ron to get accidentally kicked in the shins or something."  
  
"If you must," he said standing up from the floor and brushing off his cloak. He gave her a hand which she took as he pulled her to her feet.  
  
"I must," she said.  
  
"Virginia," he said muttering softly to himself.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," he said fixated by the slime green walls.  
  
"I guess its farewell then," she said as she grabbed her brown-leathered book bag from the floor and fastened on her scarlet cloak.  
  
"I guess so," he agreed. "Tomorrow you'll be okay, right?"  
  
"Tomorrow I'll be fine," she assured him which really meant 'Tomorrow I won't need you to listen to me' and although he'd never been good with words he understood and nodded.  
  
She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Bye," she said, "and thanks for everything. Enjoy your Ogden's."  
  
"Oh I will," he chuckled softly.  
  
With that she turned her back on the seventh year boy and began walking back to the Gryffindor common room  
  
"Bye Virginia," he said.  
  
~*~  
  
La Fin  
  
It's over! Yay! That was the most awful, ridiculously terrible thing in the whole wide world. 


	2. Gryffindor Sorts of Things

Disclaimer:  JKR owns 'em all.  

Note:  This is the second chapter to Liebling's 'Peppermint Tea'.  The original challenge was to make a believable romance between Ginny Weasley and Greg Goyle.  I liked the way the story began and asked her to continue it since it was supposed to be a romance, and not just a single encounter, but she wouldn't.  She did give me permission to do a second chapter, though, and this is it.  WE NEED A CHAPTER 3!  NOW TAKING ANY SUBMISSIONS ANYONE CARES TO SEND.  SEND TO PEZROCKS13@AOL.COM.

Ginny felt much better the next day.  She'd probably been premenstrual or chocolate deficient or something, because she was in a great mood now.  Even though Professor Flitwick had given them loads of homework, she'd finished quickly enough.  Ron had taken her aside before breakfast this morning and had actually apologized for brushing her off the day before, and last night she'd glutted herself with peppermint tea and homemade cookies she'd got from her mum and stashed away for just such an occasion.  Today's classes had been a breeze, with no homework assigned for once, and one of her roommates had asked her if she wanted to hang out in Hogsmeade the next trip.  This had been a wonderful day and Ginny was now more than ready for supper and a long coze in a comfy chair with her favorite novel.  

Colin kept giving her these questioning looks, but she shrugged it off.  She didn't want his pity, and had decided somewhere between teapot number three and threatened renal overload last night that she didn't need to confide in him anymore.  She would just sort out her own problems and never give him another reason to give her that half-exasperated, half-pitying look he was so good at.  

Ginny didn't really think much about yesterday, as she didn't want to bring herself down again, and she didn't give her conversation with Greg Goyle a second thought.  Until he, along with Malfoy and Crabbe, came barreling around the corner, nearly plowing her down.

"Hey, watch it!" she exclaimed. "Other people are trying to walk here!"

"If other people are named Weasley," Malfoy said with a smirk, "They should learn to step aside for those of us who actually matter.  C'mon Crabbe, Goyle.  We don't want to risk being polluted."

Ginny didn't know whether to be hurt or angry.  Malfoy was always making comments like that, and she just hated it.  Unfortunately she could never think of anything witty to reply so she usually just remained silent.  Malfoy pushed past her, with Crabbe on his heels.  Ginny glared at their backs, waiting for Goyle to join the parade.  

"Go ahead, Virginia," she heard a low voice grunt.  "Other people are trying to walk here."

Ginny's head snapped around and she gave Greg Goyle a hard look.  

"Are you making fun of me?" she demanded.

"Stating a fact," he replied, deadpan.  "You going or not?" He was actually standing aside, waiting for her to proceed.  

Ginny studied the huge boy standing in front of her.  He was easily over six feet, she thought.  At least fifteen stone if not more.  Probably more.  She'd never thought him too bright, but she'd never actually spoken with him before yesterday.  Now she wasn't sure about his intelligence.  But if he could think for himself, what was he doing hanging around with a prat like Malfoy?  He watched her watching him, but he didn't move.

"Goyle!"  Malfoy's irritating drawl set Ginny's teeth on edge.  "Come on, you oaf.  We've got more important things to do than telling off stupid little girls.  Let's go!"

Ginny glanced back to see Malfoy and Crabbe disappear around the corner. 

"Your master's calling," she snapped at Goyle, taking out her anger on the first person available. Goyle let it pass.

"See you later, Virginia," he said as he brushed by her.  

Ginny couldn't seem to get comfortable.  The chair was the same one she always staked out when she wanted to just read and be left alone.  It had the same amount of cushioning that it had two weeks ago, and no one had moved it an inch from its normal place away from the fire.  Her novel, a sappy, predictable romance, was one of her favorites and dog-eared from constant reading.  She even had a mug of her favorite tea at her elbow.  Why, then, couldn't she concentrate?

The answer was as obvious as it was stupid.  She felt guilty.  Ginny felt guilty for snapping at Greg Goyle when she'd been angry at Draco Malfoy.  It was ridiculous!  How many times had Greg Goyle stood by laughing stupidly at her when Malfoy had made fun of her?  Dozens!  Why should she feel guilty for getting even a miniscule amount of her own back on one of the worst bullies in the school?  She shouldn't!  But she did.  

Ginny rolled her eyes as she thought about how pathetic that was.  She doubted that Goyle had even a single redeeming quality, but she felt that she'd been in the wrong when she'd lashed out at him earlier.  Maybe it was because he'd actually listened to her yesterday.  He'd listened and offered to share some peppermint tea with her.  No one, or at least no boy she knew, had ever actually offered to drink peppermint tea.  With a snort, Ginny reasoned that no one had ever offered her a pull of Ogden's Fire Whiskey, either, but that didn't make the gesture heroic.  

Grumbling, Ginny decided that she might just as well give up on reading since she couldn't concentrate.  There was that three scroll potions assignment, she thought.  It wasn't due until next week, but she might as well work on it.  Sighing, she plodded upstairs to get her book.

The weekend came and went.  Hogsmeade was cold and icy and even though Ginny and her friend had agreed to go together, once there, she'd been deserted for a fellow in Ravenclaw with curly dark hair, flashing brown eyes and coffee and cream skin. Ginny didn't blame her friend.  If a boy had approached her and asked her to walk round with him, she would have immediately consented.  Ginny had gloomily restocked her potions supplies, bought new quills and nibbled on something from Honeydukes.  She made a few more purchases before returning to the castle. 

The only unusual thing that had happened was that she nearly ran into Greg Goyle at the castle entrance when she got back.  He'd been dashing out when she was entering, and he'd almost knocked her back outside and down the stairs.  

"Back already," he said, not making it a question.

"Not really," Ginny snapped, picking up her packages from the floor where they'd fallen when Goyle had practically run her over.  "I'm still in Hogsmeade and what you're seeing is my astral projection."

"Very solid for a projection," he commented.  Kneeling beside her with a small grunt, he picked up a bag from one of the clothing stores.

"Here!" Ginny cried, grabbing for it.  "That's mine!"

"Well, I didn't think it was mine," he answered calmly, lifting the bag out of her reach.  "Just peeking, Virginia.  No harm in having a look."

He reached his massive fist into the bag, which appeared to be dwarfed by his huge hands.  Very delicately for such a large boy, he plucked out something bright scarlet with a dancing golden pattern.  Ginny blushed to the roots of her hair as he turned a mild look on her.

Holding up the wooly knee socks with an animated lion pattern, he remarked, "Cool, if you like that sort of thing."

In spite of herself, Ginny smiled.  "What sort of thing?"

He shrugged and stuffed the socks back into the bag, handing it to her.  "That Gryffindor sort of thing."

Then he turned and left.

"Ginny, are you all right?"  

Ginny looked up to see Colin standing behind her chair, a puzzled expression on his face.

"I'm fine, Colin.  Why do you ask?"

"Maybe because I thought we were best friends.  You don't even talk to me anymore.  You don't even talk to your roommates.  What's going on?"

Ginny frowned and put her quill back in the inkpot.  Moving her scroll carefully out of the way, she leaned an elbow on the desk and rested her cheek on her fist.

"I don't talk to you because I really don't have anything to say," she told him.  "I mean, I used to tell you all my troubles, and you used to listen, and even offer advice.  But now I wonder 'what's the use?'  You're bored to tears with my silly problems and I really don't like feeling like 'poor little Ginny'.  So, what's the use?  I'll work out my own problems. Right?"

Colin opened his mouth but no words came out.  He closed it again and stomped away.  

_Well, that went rather badly,_ Ginny mused as she took up her quill again.  She hadn't really meant to tell Colin that way, but it had just come out.  And it was true.  He was her friend, but she didn't feel comfortable confiding in him any more.  He had his own problems, and he didn't need her to be piling a lot of petty little complaints on his shoulders.  She was a big girl now; she'd handle her own troubles.  He'd come round sooner or later, and their friendship would be healthier for her carrying her own load, wouldn't it?

She was about to start writing when a large body plopped itself down in the chair opposite her.  Ginny looked up, startled.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Greg Goyle.

"Library's a public place.  You might not believe it, but I can read something other than the label of a bottle of whiskey."

Ginny studied him, perplexed.  No, Greg Goyle was not stupid, as he seemed to like to pretend to be.  In fact, he seemed to have a decent brain under all that heavy dark thatch of hair and thick brows.  Why, she wondered again, did he let a skinny little ferret like Malfoy push him around?

"You have a question, Virginia?"  His voice was flat, with very little inflection, adding to the illusion of ignorance.  Ginny shook her head.

"No, no question.  Well, maybe one question."

"Ask away," he invited.

"Well, Greg," she paused.  "You really don't mind if I call you that?"

"For the third time, Virginia, no I don't mind you using my name."

Ouch, Ginny thought.  That stung.  "Very well, Greg, why do you…" she stopped again and twisted her mouth to the side.  It really wasn't any of her business, and she wasn't all that interested.  "Never mind.  It wasn't that important."

He shrugged and opened the book he'd brought with him.  Ginny couldn't help glancing at it.  She was trying to make out the title, but it was an odd font and upside down to boot.  She flushed when he lifted it to display the front cover.

"Easier to read the title this way, don't you think?"

Ginny glanced at his face, visible over the top of the book.  He wasn't smirking or sneering.  He didn't even seem to be teasing.  He was merely showing her the book.

"_A Treatise on Magical Conjurations through the Ages,_" she read out loud.  Her eyebrows shot up.  "A little light reading?"

"Not so light," said Goyle.  "It looked interesting."

"Uh, yeah, interesting.  Well, enjoy," Ginny said, shaking her head and returning to her homework.  

She worked on her potions homework for another half hour before tossing the quill down and stretching.  She stretched her arms above her head, closing her eyes and arching her back, loosening the muscles that had tightened up from her cramped pose over her scroll.  She opened her eyes as she was about to finish the lovely stretch, but found Goyle watching her. Pulling her arms down rather abruptly, she flushed lightly.

"What are you looking at!" she demanded.

"You," he replied, not the least fazed.

Ginny was speechless for a second.  Then, "I thought you were reading that 'interesting' book!" she challenged.

"You're more interesting to watch."  

Ginny spluttered.  It wasn't a compliment; the way Greg made it sound, it was a mere statement of fact.  Finally she said, "Well, don't!  It's—embarrassing!"

He tilted his head to the side, as thought studying an especially interesting specimen.  

"Why is it embarrassing to have someone watch you stretch?  You're very good at it, you know."

"I—it's—it just is!  It's an invasion of my privacy!  What if I'd stretched and my blouse had come unbuttoned or something?"

Giving her a very rare smile, Goyle said, "That would have made it even more interesting.  Does that happen to you a lot?"

"What?  No!  Oh, you're impossible!" 

Ginny stood and began gathering her things.

"That ink will smear," he observed.  "You haven't blotted it."

"Thanks a lot, but when I need your advice, I'll ask," Ginny said in her best set-down voice.

"Well, I'm happy to listen, but you won't, you know.  I guess Creevey isn't such a good friend after all if he doesn't listen to you anymore."

Ginny gritted her teeth.  She'd been wrong.  Greg Goyle was stupid!  He didn't realize when he had been insulted and he didn't know when to shut his big, ugly mouth!  

"Ooooohhhh!" she gritted out angrily, stuffing her belongings in her book bag.  "You're just _impossible!_"

As she stormed away, she heard his heavy, thick voice say, "'Bye, Virginia."


End file.
